Tonight
By Fidelius Charm
Summary: Don't say we're healing when it's just not what we do.
Note: This is a different kind of story. I'm not going to give anything away until the end. But I do have one thing to say: when you read the italics I want you to listen to 'Grace' by Phil Wickham and when you read the bold I want you to listen to 'The Razor' by Head Automatica.
There is love of course. And then there's life, its enemy.
-- Jean Anouilh
I love her. I swear to God, she is everything. The sun, the stars, and the moon, she is everything. She is so fucking amazing it makes my head spin. Her love is like a powerful drug, or at least a drug more powerful then the one I'm on right now. My world is full of bright colors and I'm getting sick. Shit, this isn't what I want to happen. God, someone call a doctor, I'm fucking dying. I'm fucking dying tonight.
It was almost midnight; the city was asleep, except for one lone soul roaming the streets. She was searching for something, someone. She needed it, she wanted it, she would kill for it. She needed a fix, and she needed it now. But what could she do when her usual hook up was missing, and no one was awake to make a business transaction? Didn't all the outlaws roam the streets at night? So where were they, she need it, she wanted it, she would kill for it, anything to get what she needed tonight.
Oh Fuck. Where the hell am I? I'm coughing up blood, I can't see it, but the salty smell of blood lingers in the air, I know its there. My love, what happened, how did I get here? Why aren't you with me? Love, my love, come back to me! I hack up more blood, I attempt to get up and begin dragging myself across the brick wall hoping to make it before I fucking collapse and die. Save me, my love save me tonight.
She continued walking her labored steps echoed into the night. She began to shake, and a cold sweat over came her. She heard coughing, and not the 'I'm sick' kind of cough either, a kind of coughing you'd hear from someone who was dying. She looked down the alley hoping the sound was a figment of her imagination. But to her dismay her senses, no matter how effected by her lack of her need, were accurate. There was a man dragging himself along the wall, blood dripping from his mouth and nose. A smell of blood, and drugs overcome her. This was it! He was her man tonight.
I finally reach the lit sidewalk, I look around for her, I search for her. And then. I find her. She is standing there in all her glory, and I love her. I walk to her and wrap my arms around her. My love, I tell her, let's go home, I tell her. It's time to go home. I hold on to her tightly, she's the love of my life. I'd die for her, I would, I'd die for her. I tighten my grip more, and she seems to mold into my body. She's perfect in every way. She fits into me, she is my other half, I love her. I want to make love to her tonight.
She is confused, who is this guy? Then she remembers him, his red hair, she remembers his freckles and his smile and his body, oh how she remembers his body, and she remembers how he is her man. She returns the hug and pulls away, 'Your face is all bloody, baby. Let's get it cleaned up.' She takes his hands and leads him down the sidewalk. Her plan is to get him to her house take all the smack he has on him, and then kick him out. The bastard won't know what hit him. Oh how glorious, this is it. This is it; she'll get what she needed tonight.
How fantastic, my love knows my every thought. I feel my body become stimulated, I want her, I want to take her. As she leads me through the streets my want becomes greater. 'Your face is all bloody, baby. Let's get it cleaned up.' Her voice is even sexy; I just want to have her. Then I start coughing and I remember I am dying. A dying man can fuck a woman, that isn't how it works. Shit, I wish I could live, to be with her. Give me five more minutes God; I just want to be with her tonight.
She notices he is coughing again. It makes her nervous. She doesn't want to have to deal with a dead body. Now she has a problem, take what he has and run, or help out the sorry fuck roaming the streets? She knows him, she knows she knows him. She can't just leave him, right? She may be fucked up beyond compare, but she isn't a monster. She pulls out his cell phone from his belt loop and dials 911. She doesn't want to deal with a dead body tonight.
She touched me so gently, like I was a china doll made of porcelain. She's so fucking graceful it's not natural. But maybe it's the fact that I'm dying that I think I'm seeing an angel. An Angel, she is an angel and I love her. Then I hear sirens. They're loud and my head begins to pulsate. I want to fucking die, so good thing I'm dying. I collapse, I hit the cold concrete. The last thing I remember is her placing my head on her lap, and mumbling her name and a simple 'Goodbye my love, goodbye tonight'.
She didn't know what to do. There she was in the middle of the city at one o'clock in the morning with a dead, or at least dying wizard on her lap. How the fuck did this happen? She notices that an ambulance and a police car has pulled up next to her and her man. Then realization hits her, what if they find out what is in his system? Or more importantly hers. She was an idiot for calling, she should've just let him die while she lived. She should've left him alone, she should've left him alone tonight.
When he woke up he couldn't remember anything but her face. Her angelic face. How he wished to see her again. He shifted his eyes slightly to his right, and found nothing. He shifted them to his left and there she was. Sitting, waiting, sleeping. Oh how he loved her, his beautiful love, his beautiful, beautiful Hermione. Oh how he loved her. He began to cough. She was alive, which meant everything, she was alive, she was alive tonight.
She looked at him, as he stared at her. His eyes were filled with love, they pierced her. They pierced her. She then realized he had been different. He had been so different from every junkie, every dealer. He was special, he had reason, he had love, he had everything she would never have. He was infinite in that last moment and then he was gone. The look in his eyes, he was infinite tonight.
The next evening was like any evening. A simple spring night, the air was cool and crisp, and beautiful. Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, walked through Muggle London examining every corner. He needed to find her. She was out there. She had run away from him, from the world she was apart of, she ran away with Fred and never returned. But he knew she was out there. After what he had read in the Daily Prophet about Fred and Angelina overdosing on cocaine and dying at St. Mungo's sometime during the early morning he knew she was out there alone. He needed to find her.
He walked down the crowded street avoiding the odd glances he was receiving because of what he was wearing (an orange, vintage Chudley Canons shirt from the 1960s) and glanced down every alley. And then he found her, he walked down the abandoned alley, he saw a trail of old, stale blood, and then her found her a few feet after, on the floor holding a small bag containing a fine white powder. She seemed to have been tossed like a rag doll, her hair was everywhere, and so was her blood. Harry gagged at the sight. He had found her alright, he had found her dead. Harry's eyes filled with tears, she had died, what he would do to bring her back, to give her a second chance tonight.
End
This was written the way I intended it to be. Word, for word. I'm leaving a lot of things ambiguous so that you, the reader,can fill in the pieces on your own. Don't try to over analyze things; everything you need to figure out what happened is in the words.
Suggestions? Comments? Flames? You know what button to click.